A Life In Silence
by swatton42
Summary: Only those who have been through the horror of having their address changed to cell {Insert number here} - Azkaban Prison would be able to describe the true affects the place can have on the soul. That is if they managed to remain mentally stable enough to do so... Mature themes in later chapters, warnings in A/N for those chapters.
1. Chapter 1 - Cell Number 987

Only those who have been through the horror of having their address changed to cell {Insert number here} - Azkaban Prison would be able to describe the true affects the place can have on the soul. That is if they managed to remain mentally stable enough to do so...

The current occupant of number 987 was sat in the corner, watching the bars at the front of his cell intently, waiting patiently for his next _guest_ to arrive. He had been waiting like this for 4 days, 7 hours and 12 minutes, as a rough estimate of course. A long line of uneaten plates of food were slowly beginning to gather mould on the floor in front of him. Glasses of water were turning stagnant and starting to evaporate. His bones were becoming more prominent with each passing day, his lips were chapped and his skin dry, but still he refused to drink. The casual drip from the potion decanter floating above his head echoed ominously around him, bouncing off all the surfaces in the room before reaching his ears. There were times he would want a break from watching the empty corridor on the other side of his iron bar clad front door, so would turn instead to watch the droplets fall from the decanter pipe. The pipe seemingly vanished into thin air after half a metre of tubing, but in reality it continued in an invisible tube into his very veins. Those in power at the ministry had decided that death by voluntary starvation and dehydration was not an acceptable way to escape his court hearing. The potion provided just enough sustenance to keep him alive, but not enough to numb the pain of his actions against additional further nutritional intake.

Somewhere along the corridor, some of his neighbours had started arguing again. The topic of today's disagreement was which of the jail staff looked more like an over-inflated toad. Considering the nature of their residency, there was only so many normal conversations that could be held, and apparently all the events in the current daily prophet had been exhausted. Occasionally bets would be placed between the inmates, for example, regarding the outcome of quidditch matches. The winner of the bet would gain the largest share of the day's quota of toilet paper. Inevitably these bets would be followed by allegations of cheating and further arguments would ensue. It was safe to say Azkaban was not a place to form solid friendships.

Although he would listen to the delightfully eloquent conversations his accompanying inmates had, he never once joined in. His voice had not been heard since the minute the auror's arrived at his house to take him in for questioning. The auror's had been working hard since Voldemort's fall in the great battle of Hogwarts, Azkaban had quite the collection of confirmed or suspected death eaters sitting in its many chambers. The Minister Of Magic had been fair and granted every death eater the opportunity for redemption through trial, although there were very few that had been pardoned and granted their freedom.

As the temperature suddenly plummeted and the stagnant water before him turned to ice, the young man in cell number 987 allowed his facial muscles to stretch into a small twisted smile. The pitiful wails of the corridor inmates caused his sickened grin to spread. This could only mean one thing, the dementors were on their way. They only made an appearance when an inmate was being escorted through the building, any other time the jailers would make the rounds by themselves.

He expectantly rose to his feet and made the short walk from brick corner to iron. A somewhat squat attendant opened his door and within seconds skeletal, rotting hands gripped at his arms. The jail attendant gave her wand a flick in the direction of the decanter freeing his arm from the potion being fed constantly into his body and led him back down the direction from which the small group had come. As always he was escorted to meeting room 12, found on level 9. Waiting for him was the head of the department of magical law enforcement, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He allowed himself to be forced into the empty seat at the table, a single glass of water perched on the woodwork.

'Please, have a drink...' The young man merely stared at Shacklebolt's left shoulder and folded his bony arms across his emaciated chest.

'Well, as you wish then Master Malfoy. I have mentioned to you before there have been witnesses approach me, willing to support you at a hearing. They believe that you took minimal action as part of Lord Voldemort's ranks and the priori incantatum spell on your wand would appear to be in your favour. The murder toll at your personal hand still stands at zero, am I correct?'

By way of answer Draco slouched back into his chair and met Shacklebolt's gaze with his own grey and blood-shot eyes.

'We do not have enough evidence against you to hold you here any longer, you do not have to return to cell 987 today. However you will be placed under house arrest with one of our newest auror's until you agree to give a verbal statement at a hearing, the date of which is still to be confirmed. The auror you will be staying with progressed through training faster than any other student and is more than qualified to...provide for your current needs. He will explain all details of your living conditions and terms when you arrive at his home.'

The door clicked open and another man sidled into meeting room 12. Draco's eyes darted across the newcomer's features, taking in everything from the dark hair, to his muscular physique. His eyes wandered up to the man's face, studying the brilliant green eyes behind a pair of well worn rounded glasses, and up again to steal a quick glance at the slightly faded scar.

'Master Malfoy, I'm sure you recognise Master Potter. Please exercise restraint and respect whilst staying in his house, we still have plenty of empty cells here in Azkaban if you do not.'

And still Draco Malfoy said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2 - A New Prison

A/N - Thanks to all who, read, reviewed, favourited, followed etc the story so far! Enjoy!

Together they walked to the topmost floor of number 12 Grimmauld Place. The house had undergone many changes since the war and now appeared to be an almost comfortable place to live. There was a small selection of dark artefacts left in situ as a result of perfectly executed permanent sticking charms but otherwise it had all the hallmarks of a relaxed young man's household. The walls along the stairwells had been adorned with moving photographs of Harry's friends and old pictures of his family, odd pieces of clothing had been dropped in unusual places waiting to be tidied away and scattered throughout were objects, trinkets and sporting memorabilia he had collected over the years. Harry came to a halt outside a slightly tatty door on the right-hand side of the corridor.

'This will be your room while you're here, Malfoy. A trunk of your things has been gathered from Malfoy Manor and has already been bought up for you. I'll leave you for a while to get settled, I'll be back up in about an hour. If you're ready before then I'll be in the kitchen downstairs. There's a few things we need to go over and that's the warmest room of the house.' Harry had studied Malfoy's file so often he practically had the whole thing memorised, he wasn't expecting an answer from the blonde in front of him but hesitated on the off chance he would get a response. He didn't.

Malfoy simply stood there with his hand on the doorknob evidently waiting for Harry to leave. As the sound of Harry's footsteps faded away into the lower levels of the house he turned the handle and gave a hard push when the door stuck in its frame. Taking a quick glance around the room he took a deep breath in and set straight to work.

An hour later Harry found himself standing in the corridor of the top floor of his house, looking at the scene before him in a state of mild amusement and wonder. In the mere 60 minutes he had been downstairs this part of his home had been transformed into what closely resembled a smaller version of the room of requirement, with piles of stuff stacked haphazardly along each and every wall.

Shaking his head he entered the room, his eyes searching for his new house guest.

'I see you redecorated.' From his slumped position in the far corner of the room Draco snapped his head up at the sound of the intrusion. He held Harry's gaze for a while before scanning his newly equipped room himself. He had stripped the room of all furniture apart from the pillow and quilt he had pulled off the bed and his trunk from the manor.

'It's very... minimalistic. It kind of reminds me of your cell in Azkaban.' As he spoke he watched Draco's mouth twist into a sickeningly contorted version of his old trademark smirk. Harry sighed to himself at the realisation that this was only a shadow of the Slytherin prince he once knew in school; this new man was clearly very physically and mentally ill, ill to the extent that he seemed to find pleasure in making his bedroom a replica of his former prison.

'Come on, let's go get this formal stuff out of the way. There's a drink ready for you downstairs, you look positively parched.'

For the third time in a row, Harry pushed the cup back across the table, his tone starting to show his growing impatience.

'Let's try this again, Malfoy. My number one instruction was to keep you alive, if you enjoy the slow pain of constant thirst then fine, I'll just call the healers at St Mungo's to rig you back up to that potion drip thingy so you don't die on my watch. Understand?' His minor rant seemed to trigger a private mental debate in the eyes of the man knelt on the floor opposite him. Tentatively he picked up the cup in both hands and studied every inch of the crockery surface and the gleam of the contents inside. He gawked for a moment at Harry's face, then to the kitchen sink, then the assorted coffee and tea containers on the counter, before returning to Harry's face and started to nibble away at a flake of dried skin on his lower lip.

'What's the matter, you want something else?' The section of skin he was chewing on pulled and caused his lip to produce a small droplet of blood, although this seemed to go unnoticed as he continued to gnaw away. 'You know, one of the joys of being under house arrest instead of in prison is you still get to make some choices for yourself. Like what drink you would prefer to have.'

Harry rose from his chair and gestured for Malfoy to follow, bringing the still warm cup of fruit tea with him. Tipping the contents down the sink he pulled another cup down from the shelf above his head.

'Go ahead, choose something.' Malfoy's attention turned back to the tea selection on the counter, so Harry went to get the hot water ready. Just as his hands touched the kettle he jolted forward, the counter digging uncomfortably into his diaphragm. Looking over his shoulder he found himself staring into the deranged glare of his new charge, Draco was stood so close to him he could feel the man's pronounced collar bone jutting out from under his shirt and connecting with his shoulder. The wild and uncontainable something in the sunken eyes staring back at him made an almost inaudible whine escape Harry's lips. The emotion coming from those soul-robbed grey depths was unclear and indefinable; it wasn't aggressive or threatening at least. Fear-ridden and panicked, perhaps? Without releasing Harry's trapped form, he claimed a teabag from the raspberry and loganberry box and dropped it into the empty cup.

'That's exactly the same as the drink I made for you the first time.' His attention was so fixated on Harry's hands that he didn't show any comprehension that he had heard anything being said. It wasn't until his cup was full, stirred and the teabag removed and dropped in the bin that he backed away, giving Harry the faintest trace of a thankful smile.

'OK then. Right. Well, umm, let's have this talk about you staying here, shall we?' Plopping in his comfy seat from earlier Harry hauled a rather heavy folder onto the tabletop, waiting for Draco to slowly and carefully fold his skeletal body back into its hunched position from before. The chair he had originally been offered once again stood neglected and pushed aside.

'This Malfoy, is your file. It has everything we know about you, and I mean everything. I even know that your favourite story when you were 6 was Percy Pompkin and his Petrified Pot Plant. Every day we are to write about your progress in the house, any concerns I may have about your behaviour and well-being and all that jazz. The basic house rules you must follow are - you are not allowed to do any magic until you have been officially pardoned by the ministry for any crimes you may have committed. You are not allowed to leave the house, but do have freedom to wander from room to room as you please, apart from my room which will be locked at all times. Try not to damage my stuff. If I have house guests then please act respectfully towards them. With the basics covered you have all evening to read through the folder, if you have any questions then feel free to ask. Or failing that, point at whatever you don't understand and I'll try and explain. They're hoping while you're staying here I'll be able to get you talking again, what do you think the chances are of that?'

Draco seemed to consider the question for a minute but then scrunched his nose in a most childlike manner. Harry's impatience began to build again when for a fourth time Malfoy pushed the cup across the table towards him. It took him a moment to register that the cup was now empty and Malfoy's expression looked almost hopeful.

For the second time in half an hour Harry was trapped between the counter and Malfoy's gaunt body, the only difference being tiredness seemed to have caught up with the undernourished man. He rested his chin on Harry's shoulder, lazily watching his hands working through half closed pale eyelashes.

As always read and review, swatts xxx

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	3. Chapter 3 - Fractured

Thanks to all who read and reviewed and whatnot so far! Ok warning time - I don't want to reveal to much of the plot in an author's note so let's say suggested violence and sensitive topic issue.

Several days had passed since Draco Malfoy's first footsteps in Grimmauld Place, but in this time the odd pairing had developed quite the routine. Mealtimes and drinks would be spent in an almost but not quite companionable silence; Harry had even become accustomed to having Malfoy pressing into his spine whilst preparing their selected cuisine. So accustomed in fact he would wait for the familiar sensation of breath tickling the hairs on the nape of his neck before so much as picking up a knife, chopping board or any necessary ingredient.

An hour every morning found Malfoy in a steaming hot bath, free from any bubbles baths or scents. Always just plain scalding hot water and an unscented bar of soap. Always a bath. Never a shower. Harry had tried to persuade him into the shower the day after he arrived but that was a complete failure. As soon as the water switched on Malfoy crumbled to the floor and just stared unblinkingly at the droplets in free-flow, he had also refused any food or drink for the remainder of the day. It wasn't until later that evening when they sat at the table to do his daily report that Malfoy shuffled through the pages and pointed to the section about his hours spent watching the potions drip from the decanter providing the nourishment in Azkaban, that Harry finally understood the turn of events in the bathroom that morning.

An hour every evening was spent conversing at the table, Harry in his chair, Malfoy on the floor - discussing the day's activities and progression, albeit a very one sided conversation. Progression was slow and there was rarely anything interesting to report, so talk would turn to Harry's relationship with Ginny and his friends, articles in the prophet and upcoming sporting events. Harry would talk; Malfoy would give an occasional nod, blink, and sometimes allow a demonic sneer or half smile that seemed to show way too many teeth to grace his still sunken face. The only times his reaction would vary was when Harry would mention the war. On these rare occurrences Malfoy's eyes would widen with the sheer quantity of sudden emotion and he would scratch incessantly at the mark on his left arm, his untrimmed nails breaking the paper-thin skin and leaving unrepentant gashes along the slowly fading skull and snake motif.

All other times Malfoy would return to his hovel-like temple on the top floor while Harry continued on with his day, although a small voice would niggle in the very back of his consciousness - he should not be finding this set-up so disturbingly..._comfortable_.

'I really wish you two would stop doing that, public displays of affection are bad enough when it's _not _my sister and my best friend.' Upon hearing Ron's drawling tone, Ginny giggled and pulled away from Harry's welcoming kiss.

'It's not exactly a _public _display of affection, Ron, this is my house.' Harry argued in return.

'We're still outside! You and Ginny haven't even made it past the doorway and you're all over each other!'

'Leave them alone Ronald.' Hermione chimed in placing her hand on his forearm. 'It's not like we haven't done our fair share of public kissing is it?'

'That's different though, us kissing in public doesn't make me want to throw up.'

'Charming as ever, Ron. Nice to know what my best mate really thinks of me. Go on through to the kitchen, I've got the fire going in there.' Just to wind Ron up further as Ginny brushed past him, Harry planted a rather firm slap on her behind. Still with a smirk plastered across his face he turned to shout up the stairs. 'MALFOY! GET DOWN HERE QUICK IF YOU WANT ANYTHING TO DRINK!'

This gave Ron something new to whine about once they were all settled. 'How is life with the blonde bastard hanging around? And why does he need to join us?'

'I don't really see him to be honest; mostly he stays in his room at the top of the house. I don't see why though, it's shit boring in there after what he did to it on his first day here.' Seeing three confused faces looking back at him, Harry continued. 'All he has in the whole room is a pillow, a duvet and his clothes. He's not... right, at the moment. I'm not sure what I would even describe him like.'

'I know how I would describe him. I don't care what people say about lack of participation in the war, to me that just means he's a lazy fucker - didn't want to get his precious little hands dirty. As far as I'm concerned he's got the mark, he called himself a death eater right to the end. He hasn't even bothered to defend himself! Harry you should just dump his puny little ferrety arse back in Azkaban.'

Throughout his little rant Harry had been given him his darkest _shut up if you like living _look, his glare only faltering when Hermione reached to rub soothingly across Ron's tensed shoulders.

'I don't care what you think, Ron. He's not well, he needs help regardless of what he may or _may not_ have done. I'm going to help him whether you like it or not so get your beak out of my job!' His final words rolling out in a low growl that made everyone in the room withdraw slightly from the irate auror before them.

The bottom step creaked at that moment, alerting the small group to Malfoy's imminent arrival. He sauntered in, ignoring the burning glares coming from the table and headed for the medicine cabinet. With his back to the room it was impossible for the others to see what he pulled from the cupboard.

'Having a drink, Malfoy?' Wordlessly he pulled down a mug from the shelf and slid it across the countertop to Harry's waiting hand.

'Everyone else is having one too, be nice please.' He followed Harry's instruction with a scowl tattooed on his sharp features, piling all of the crockery, assorted teas, coffee and the sugar bowl on a tray. He carried the tray across to join Harry at the kettle, placing the tray on the side and taking up his usual position to watch the other man make the drinks. His foul mood practically radiated out of his very skin as he pressed himself into the auror's back, his knuckles and fingertips turning white from grasping the counter either side of his hips so hard.

'Malfoy, if you must watch me work, at least let me breathe at the same time.' His scowl didn't fade but he pulled back just enough to lighten the crushing pressure he had been applying with his body.

He left as soon as the drinks were poured, having decided to take his mug with him back to his room-slash-prison replica.

'Always nice talking to you, Malfoy.' Harry muttered more to himself than anyone else still in the room.

'H, what the hell was that?!' He jumped at the severity of his girlfriend's suddenly fiery temper. 'He looked like he was about to have his wicked way with you right up on the counter in front of us!'

'Gin, it's just something he does. I told you, he's not exactly stable. He's been here a few days now and I've noticed he will only ever eat or drink if he can see exactly what your hands are doing to his food and stuff at all times. Apparently the best way to do that is -'

'Breathing down your neck like a horny vampire?' She paused to catch her breath and glared at her man's expression for a while, searching his eyes for any deep, dark hidden secrets. 'I'm gonna go talk to him.'

'Gin, please don't.' He sighed out in exasperation, but it was too late by then, Ginny had already reached the stairwell.

'H! GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!' Ginny's scream caused a sudden flurry of movement as Harry, Ron and Hermione all clambered to get up the stairs together. Ginny was found at the top level of the house, but not in Malfoy's room as expected. Instead she was poised in a frozen stance in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom, her skin turning a pale shade of grey.

On first glance nothing looked out of place. Standing in the middle of the room and facing back towards the door, he found what he initially thought was the problem. The bathroom mirror had been smashed, leaving the sink full of fractured glass. Cradling Ginny in his arms, Harry gave the mirror a very limp wave with his wand, forcing the shards to sink back into their old home like a freshly completed jigsaw puzzle.

'A little broken glass is nothing to be so worried about Gin.' He soothingly whispered into her ear.

'O yea, look down Harry.' He dropped his gaze to the blue tile floor and instantly felt his heart rate plummet. Already smudged from his footsteps, a trail of fresh blood tracked away from the sink, out of the bathroom and followed on down the corridor. All eyes flickered back to the mirror and in unison focused on the top right-hand corner of the frame. The glass jigsaw puzzle was not as perfectly completed as they had thought. Harry fled the room without a backwards glance, following the blood trail suddenly so blazingly clear against the dark corridor carpeting...

As always R & R, swatts xxx


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